


bruises (i keep calling out to you)

by serendipitous_theodosia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Friends to Lovers, I will finish this, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, L - Freeform, M/M, OCD, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmates, but like it’s v small, i poured too much of my heart and soul into it to not finish, pls enjoy and yall slackers better make more fics for them or else i’m gonna riot, still b carefu, theres rlly only one other part i need to work on so like it’ll get done don’t worry, this is kid centric tbh, this whole entire fic is in retaliation to the fact that there aren’t enough fics for this, yeah i’ll fix the tags later if they’re taking too long to load
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitous_theodosia/pseuds/serendipitous_theodosia
Summary: “Looks like your soulmate is a warrior, Kiddo.”
Relationships: (not until later tho lmao), Black Star/Death the Kid, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans, Nakatsukasa Tsubaki/Liz Thompson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 77





	bruises (i keep calling out to you)

**Author's Note:**

> yall ur welcome for this lmao, you better go out and post more for kidstar or i’m RIOTING. anyways, tiny mention of self harm in the beginning there (so pls b careful of that), this might be the tiniest bit melodramatic idk, pls tell me ALL of your thoughts in the comments. also if you have OCD tell me if i did anything wrong cause i’ll fix it. no beta we die like men, having said that i might change a bunch of crap once i finish the next chapter lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was clear to him, even from the very beginning, that his soulmate was a massive idiot.  
Not only was pale skin always marred with a conglomeration of yellows, purples, and reds, but the heathen — whoever they may be— had no regard for symmetry. The bruises and cuts would bloom haphazardly, one on the left side of his cheek, or on the right side of his leg, an ugly and grotesque display of the idiocy of his counterpart.

  
They never hurt, no, only acted as a form of mockery to Kid. He felt a familiar itchiness come on when a new one appeared, the desire to make a similar mark to match, plaguing his brain and drowning out everything and everyone around him with static before he finally caved. His lip curled with sick satisfaction, even as the pain of his self-inflicted wounds ricocheted off his nerves. At least this way he could make his partner’s carelessness beautiful. At least this way he didn’t look at his body and see shame.  
(And perhaps his soulmate would be reassured by the presence of his wounds on their body. Perhaps they traced the outline of the hurts they shared, and felt a little less lonely in the wake of their connection. Perhaps they both stared at the laughing moon, thoughts eclipsed into the night sky and heightened by pale starlight.  
He had always loved the stars.)

  
It took Kid a while to realise the rare instances he got hurt, a similar injury would appear reflected on his body. It was years after they started appearing. He noticed after a rather brutal training session, which led to a thin gash below his eye. He tried to ignore it for as long as he could, avoiding mirrors and digging his nails into his hands to keep from touching it.  
But he relented after a few hours. He tried to prepare for the inevitable bile, the screaming scathing voices shaming him, the inevitable tension of his arms and shoulders as he peeks hesitantly into the mirror and—

  
Oh.

  
There were two gashes now, perfectly reflected and the new one made with such precision and care, Kid felt his golden eyes prickle and burn. A warmth filled in his chest, burning out the loneliness of an empty and cold house and replacing it with a weightlessness he had never known to be possible. He touched the gash, and was met with wetness, salty tears curling into his nimble fingers. He let out a breathless laugh. Perhaps his soulmate wasn't as hopeless as he once believed.

  
****

  
_“Oh my, what happened to you, Kiddo?” His father asked the first time the bruises had appeared, cocking his head to the side in a quizzlike manner. Kid’s gaze hyper fixated on his mask, wondered if it was .01 millimeters off center or if it was just his imagination._   
_He cleared his throat, looked up at his father’s hat — which was most definitely asymmetrical— before looking down at the smooth concrete of the Death Room’s floor, “I’m not sure where they came from. I have not gotten hurt in any of my training, and I have not done anything reckless.” His teeth worried at his lip, as his brows furrowed, “They came out of nowhere!”_

  
_His father hummed, taking in the weight of his son’s words. His mask stayed impassive and blank, as was customary. Kid wondered if his father’s expression ever changed. If he would become as blank and expressionless when he became a shinigami. He pushed away the thought before he could ponder it further, and contented himself with tracing the outline of the mark, feeling oddly comforted._   
_“Do you know what a soulmate is?”_

  
_Kid’s face scrunched up at the word, buried in the depths of his memory. He vaguely recalled one of his tutor’s prattling on about the subject, but found he couldn’t keep his attention off the skewed tie she wore. Regardless, he cobbled up a response based on the few sentences he remembered, “An ideal partner, correct?”_

  
_His father nodded, and Kid was inclined to imagine a smile, “That’s right, son.” He said, voice filled with tints of acclamation, “Think of them as your other half. Everyone is said to have one, and th_ e _bond is meant to transcend even death. They are your perfect match, complementary in every way. ”_

  
_He stood tall at the praise, but worried his lip even more as the gears in his head turned, “But what does that have to do with the bruises?”_   
_“It’s the same concept as Soul Resonance, but with a twist. Soulmates have their soul wavelengths connected at all times, creating this unbreakable bond. Because the connection is so strong, it manifests itself physically, thus causing the bruises you see now.”_   
_“So, you’re saying that the injuries they get will show up on my body and any I get will show up on theirs?” He asked, realisation hitting him hard as he reconsidered one of the marks on his left arm, before latching his gaze onto into the dark voids of his father’s eyes._   
_The swirling darkness of the sockets seemed to laugh at him, as the god said, “It looks like your soulmate is a warrior, Kiddo.”_

  
****

  
As Kid grew older, the bruises became less frequent, supposedly as his counterpart became more competent in their abilities. He had wondered over the years what they would be like, if they were really so reckless to put themselves in needless danger, or if they were just inadequate at fighting. His cheeks would redden as he imagined guiding their movements, showing them different fighting positions and meticulously fixing their stance.

  
At least they had the decency to heal quickly, and make their hurts as symmetrical as possible when they did appear. Perhaps they would be more tolerable than he once believed.

  
Either way, his life became fuller with the addition of Patty and Liz, two perfectly symmetrical weapons with a certain tenacity and grace. They filled the empty corridors of Gallows Mansion, as they partook in missions deemed too difficult for the students at his father’s academy.

  
The DWMA. His father hadn’t enrolled him, brushing it off as trivial and unnecessary. Kid cocked his head at his father’s insistence to keep his head in his study, but decided ultimately that perhaps it wasn’t worth his time. He was a Shinigami after all, and his plight to build a perfect world was not dependent on the attendance to a school meant for training Meisters and Weapons.  
And yet, he found himself in the Deathroom, shoulders tense and fingers twitching with an overwhelming urge to help those four hopeless students. They seemed rather ordinary, perhaps less so because of their mandatory remedial lessons. He surveyed them, a blonde with her hair swooped into pigtails, green eyes blazing with anger as she yelled at a boy. The boy, presumably her partner, bared sharp teeth at her, messing with the cream headband which hung low on his forehead. His eyes then drifted to another girl, tall, and azure gaze leading to—

  
Oh.

  
“Black☆Star’s soul wavelength is astonishingly great—” He heard his father say, and his fingers curled into the golden arms of his chair. His gaze lingered on the younger boy, this “Black☆Star” and swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. His breathing became shallower, and he tore his gaze away to refocus his attention on his father, “— he’s a genius at using direct soul attack against an opponent.”  
There was something in his voice that put Kid on edge, gripping the chair hard enough to feel it bend. A cold shiver snaked its way down his spine. He switched gears and tapped his fingers in sync on both sides, counting to eight for each one. Waiting for the other foot to drop.

  
“— it won’t do him much good in this fight.”

  
He choked silently on the little air coming into his lungs, and shrunk at the weight of his words. His skin prickled, and his tapping became erratic (imperfect) after catching a glimpse of Stein zapping the poor boy with his soul wavelength. He got up abruptly, tearing his eyes off the mirror.

  
His screams rattled in Kid’s brains as he gritted out, “This is too much. They need help. Let’s go.” The responses of his weapons fell on deaf ears, but his father’s sharp words pierced through.  
“You can’t get involved.” Images of Black☆Star’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, veins popping out of his skin, “You’re not a student that goes here.”

  
He pressed his lips together in impatience, stopped walking only to say, “In that case, as of this moment, consider me enrolled.” Before starting again (left foot always left foot first, and make sure the strides aren’t too big), he inhaled for eight seconds before exhaling for another eight.  
He was going to save him.

  
****

He did not save him.

  
Instead, he felt his legs become lead, as those whispering doubts slithered back into his mind again. He refused to stop before his step count reached an even number, and tried to blink out the blur invading the corners of his vision. Oh god, he forgot to fold the toilet paper, didn’t he? Of course he did, he was trash not worthy of taking over his father's position, he wasn’t even capable of remembering the toilet paper! He swallowed down the bile and pushed his tongue forcefully on the back of his teeth. He could hear Patty’s laughter, and tried to register what Liz was saying over all the voices screaming of his incompetence. That damned toilet paper.  
“If you don’t snap out of it those kids are gonna die.” And he knew that, felt that more intrinsically than he could possibly explain. But the images of the boy beaten and battered and covered in blood were not enough to overpower the static (the toilet paper isn’t folded properly in a triangle), the hole in his stomach (how could he forget about the toilet paper?), the pressure on his chest (he needed to fix the toilet paper). He needed to check the toilet paper, felt himself choking at the idea of not. This was serious he needed to make sure everything was ok, how could Liz not realise this he needed to check—

  
It'll only take a minute, he reasoned with himself. The weight loosened as he gave in to the urge, and rushed back to Gallows Mansion to make sure the toilet paper was folded into perfectly symmetrical triangles.  
Yet a minute turned into two turned into five turned into the entire day, as Kid flitted about the house and made sure the pictures were perfectly aligned with the ground as well as each other. He found himself spending hours on one frame, even though he knew it wouldn’t move if he walked away. But that didn’t stop him from pulling out the measuring tape again and again, counting and recounting, biting his lip until he tasted blood. It was perfect, it had been even before he checked and yet his inner voice insisted it wasn’t.

  
Even as he crawled into bed, the itch driving him completely satiated, he felt cold. Black☆Star slithered back into his mind, and while the boy was more welcome than self loathing, Kid could not help the guilt that pooled in his stomach. They could be badly injured, or even dead. His father would stop things before they got too out of hand right? He wouldn’t let his own students die right? Kid swallowed down the guilt and checked to make sure his timer was set to eight am. He was to join the DWMA tomorrow. He lulled himself to sleep by counting.

  
He did not notice the bruises on his forehead looked a lot like electricity.

  
****

  
It had taken him three hours to make sure that the house was orderly enough to leave. The candles were burned down the right amount, the picture frames were perfectly aligned, and the toilet paper was in fact folded into triangles. Absolutely perfect.  
He felt a certain level of peace as he traversed the long cobbled roads of Death City. Everything was neat and orderly, exactly as it should be. So, he entertained himself with idle chatter between him and his adoptive sisters, smiling softly at Patty’s antics and Liz’s ability to indulge her. His thoughts flashed back to the kids from yesterday and his smile faltered, before he walked faster. Today he would see what had happened to them, and his peace was disturbed by a lump of guilt forming in his throat.

  
_What type of Shinigami was he?_

  
Either way, he was at the DWMA before he knew it, and was blown away by the beautiful symmetry of the building. Leave it to his father to construct something as awe-inspiring and wonderful as this. This was the vision that he would take up after he took over, this echoed of the balanced world Kid so desperately wanted to create. Absolutely perfect.  
“Hey. Are you the new kid we’ve been hearing so much about?”

  
His head snapped to the source of the noise. A boy sitting (asymmetrically) against the school, white hair stark against his eerily red eyes. Kid attributed him to one of the weapons who faced Stein, and felt the tension ease out of his body. He was clearly not dead. Asymmetrical, but not dead. And the likelihood of him being alive while the others had perished was significantly low. Kid stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to focus on the boy’s — Soul, if he remembered correctly — hair, and instead crafted a response, “This is my first day. Are you here to show me around?”

  
Soul laughed at him (rather rudely) and then proceeded to invoke one of Kid’s tirades on symmetry by mentioning school started at seven (and rightfully so, seven was a heinous number, no balance whatsoever!)

  
He snapped out of it at the sound of crackling. He turned just in time to see the tip of the left cone break off, and a kid flailing as they fell to the ground. He felt a scream bubble in his throat (oh god, it was perfect why’d he have to go and ruin it, it was perfect—) as that familiar itchiness burned deep into his veins.

  
He was shorter in person. This Black☆Star, with his hair spiked up in a hideously asymmetrical haircut, which was so close to being perfect if it was only two centimeters to the left, tanned skin housing a star scar on his right shoulder but not on his left, and worse of all the buttons of his shirt being slightly askew. He felt his hands twitch, tried to summon anger and disgust for this boy who should, objectively, be ugly.

  
But he could see constellations eclipsed in the gaps of this annoying boy’s smile, swallowed thickly at the arrogant curve of his neck, and the crinkles underneath his eyes. (And oh, his eyes were a lot prettier up close, various shades of blue and green meshing into a teal, pupils small, yet sharp as he analysed Kid, a cold calculating glint masked behind fire. Kid looked down to hide the raging red that overtook his cheeks, and let himself be scrutinised. He was supposed to be angry, where was that anger?)

  
“Disgusting pig.” He spat out. Yet he was surprised that the words fell flat in his mouth, that the syllables tasted wrong on his tongue. However. No matter the feelings Black☆Star evoked, or the weird relief Kid felt that he was alive and safe, he must pay for his transgressions.

  
There were many instances where he could have struck, and ended this pitiful duel, but he found the antics of these two boys relatively amusing. He was above them both in relative skill, and he had his weapons while the two of them were woefully out of sync. His gaze would slide to Black☆Star, the perpetrator of this fight, nerves grated by his noisy bravado. He really should not have been this smug, considering Kid had dealt blows to his ankle, stomach, and head, and he had not returned the favour. But he could not help being the slightest bit intrigued by the shorter boy, by his boisterous claims of surpassing god, and the utter confidence oozing out of every pore on his body. He did not see Kid as above him, did not see this fight as pointless, or something that he could never win. He did not see a Shinigami in training, or a footnote in his father’s legacy.

  
He saw an opponent he truly believed he could crush.

  
It was nice. Filled Kid with a warmth he could not explain. He’s only known Black☆Star for ten minutes and ascertained he was an arrogant, cocky, asymmetrical bastard who had improbable, illogical dreams that he decided to barrel towards no matter what. He proclaimed he would surpass god, eyes burning with such a deep self-confidence and passion, that despite how ludicrous his goal sounded—

  
Kid believed him.

  
****

  
Kid washed the blood out of his mouth, and tried not to think of him. Instead, he focused on his bangs (dammit Soul!) and what he was going to do with them. His hand subconsciously reached for the scissors, as he tried to swallow the bile snaking up his throat. It made him nauseous, looking at it. It was a marvel he lasted this long without spitting up more blood.  
He measured out how much hair he needed to trim in order for it to be even (oh god, they’re so uneven) before his eyes locked onto the bruise at the center of his forehead. A small, circular bruise.

  
A bruise that looked exactly like the shape and diameter of his bullets.

  
The scissors clattered against the pristine marble sink. He quickly (sloppily) unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a slightly red patch of skin right in the middle of his stomach. His breath slammed into the back of his throat, as he checked his ankle, only to find what he already knew was there.

  
_“Your soulmate is a warrior, Kiddo.”_

  
_An idiotic, egotistical one_ , he thought ruefully, betraying the hammering heart in his chest and the delicate rouge on his cheekbones, his hideous fringe forgotten.

  
****

  
Despite beating the duo to a pulp, Kid found himself becoming fast friends with the four teens. He was surprised initially at how well he complemented the group dynamic, and by how quickly the boys were able to accept him. Either way, he quickly became acquainted to the earnest, honourable Maka, her reserved, good-natured scythe (and boyfriend as soon as they stopped denying their feelings for each other) Soul, the kind and pure hearted multi-faceted weapon, Tsubaki and—  
Well, Black☆Star.

  
It was rare for him to spend one on one time with any of them however, as they were all swamped with schoolwork, and his father still sent him on special missions on par with his skills. So in the rare downtime he possessed, he indulged himself on a little side quest.

  
The Legendary Sword Excalibur, said to bring untold glory to one who was worthy. Kid wasn’t aware of how he first heard of it, perhaps whispered in the halls of the academy somewhere, but curiosity wiggled its way into his mind (this weapon was said to be symmetrical after all), and he found himself walking towards the library. As luck would have it, Black☆Star was there as well, sitting atop the very book he had wanted, laughter bubbling out of his lips. He seemed to be invested in one of those silly comics, and unaware of anything around him. Kid hesitated, stopping (at an odd number no less!). He tried to process the warmth settling in his stomach. (Why did he want to make him laugh like that? Why did he want to see his smile more?)  
He swallowed, before shaking it off and walking towards the other boy.

  
“Keep it down, will you? You’re in a library.”

  
The boy stilled, eyes connecting with his golden ones. His smile widened into a crooked grin (was it socially acceptable to fix it with his fingers?), and he furrowed his eyebrows in embarrassment, “Yeah, sorry.” Black☆Star cocked his head to the side, straightening his back, “What are you doing here, Kid? Are you being punished too?”

  
Kid assessed him, taking in every aspect of the boy’s appearance. He was always so vibrant, movements loud and exaggerated. How was it possible for someone so short to have that much energy teeming in their veins? (He wondered why the universe dictated them to be a perfect pair. He was everything Kid was not, brash and uncouth, possessing a certain coarseness that flitted into his every interaction. He got under his skin in a way Kid never knew was possible. Yet even so, he could not summon annoyance when Black☆Star struggled to say Excalibur, only fond exasperation. Black☆Star’s eyes filled with curiosity then as he leaned into his personal space eagerly. His gaze slid from the innocent wonder of his eyes to the lone star on his shoulder. He could not stop the tightness that grew in his throat the longer he stared at it. His soulmate was asymmetrical.  
Imperfect.)

  
Before he knew it, they were on a quest for Excalibur, Kid for the sake of symmetry and Black☆Star for the sake of victory and glory. He had left Black☆Star at the base of the hill because he knew the younger boy would find any way to catch up to him (and he couldn’t hold two people on Beelzebub without it being woefully imbalanced). Either way, he found amusement in his shouts of annoyance.

  
That is before he noticed the stream of water running through the cave.

  
“I can’t go down there. My pants will get wet.” He said, keeping his voice as even as possible. He looked into the swirling water below, imagined all the little life forms teeming in the seemingly calm waters. He gagged, and instead latched his attention onto Black☆Star. He stared at Kid, disbelief clear in his posture. Kid could feel his bones become heavy and weight settle onto his chest. (The water looks absolutely disgusting please don’t make him go in there.)

  
He has expected Black☆Star to leave him there, forgo this quest and thus not have to deal with Kid’s antics. (He knew the effect that his “neurotic tendencies'' had on those close to him, their vexation surfacing as tense shoulders and sighs of pity. He was a burden like this, and he had almost gotten the girls and himself killed on multiple occasions. It was only likely that Black☆Star would follow that pattern, see him for the hindrance he was.)

  
But Black☆Star only tsked before bending his knees and patting his back, “Hop on.”

  
Any heaviness residing in Kid’s chest vanished, replaced with an unfamiliar warmth settling in his stomach. He bit back a smile, and abided Black☆Star’s request.

  
“Such a terrible obstacle so early on the quest. Our chosen path is truly a cruel one. I’ll ward off the water from above and you can handle the water from below.” An apology as well as gratitude. Kid tightened his grip on the black umbrella keeping his eyes off the water (oh god there are so many germs in there aren’t there), “We’ll work together. It’s a good thing there are two of us, this would be impossible alone.”

  
“You’re kind of a useless idiot aren’t you?” Black☆Star sighed, but continued to walk towards the holy sword. (His voice wasn’t filled with the impatience and irritation he was used to, that buzzed in Liz’s words whenever he was being difficult or Patty’s laughter whenever he was rendered paralysed in his anxiety. It wasn’t even filled with his father’s indifference. Kid squinted at the back of Black☆Star’s head, preparing himself for malice and derogatory words that they never came.  
He was the only person thus far to not make fun of Kid’s neurotic tendencies.)

  
Kid could not help but laugh at the ridiculousness of Excalibur, and how easily he was able to rile up his companion. This whole quest had been a bust, and yet he couldn’t help but smile to himself as they made their way towards the exit. (Kid told himself it was because of how symmetrical Excalibur was, despite everything else. But as he held tightly onto Black☆Star’s chest and leaned in closer to make sure he didn’t fall off, arm covering the star, so he didn’t fixate on it, he found himself thinking this whole experience would have been way less enjoyable without him.)

  
****

  
The hallways of the DWMA seemed shadowed against the weight of Soul’s injury.  
Of course, everyone acted the same when visiting him, all cheery eyed and goofy shenanigans. But the moment they crossed the threshold of the infirmary into the hallway, the smiles slipped off their faces, and they looked at each other, eyes dark with concern.  
(Kid had tried to be as helpful as possible by keeping the medicine perfectly symmetrical in the cabinet. If Soul was stuck here for a long period of time, he might as well be comfortable.)

  
Maka of course was taking the brunt of the sadness. Her eyes glazed over in class and in conversation, her brows furrowed. She would worry her lip until it bled, and would not notice until hours later. (She glided across the floor, most of a spectre than a girl, haunting not the school but her own torment. Kid could not help but think she was the one who was injured most.)  
It all comes to ahead when he saw ash hair curtained over small knees. He paused in the hallway, ears honing in on the snivelling noises. (He tried not to focus on the fact that her breathing was erratic and unpredictable, bit his lip before telling her something brash. He may not be the best at the emotions, but he knew that would only make everything worse.)

  
“Maka?”

  
The girl lifted her head, rivers pouring from her eyes. She furiously wiped them away with her sleeve, voice hoarse and cold as she looked away, “What are you doing here?”

  
Kid blinked at her, stepping towards her gingerly, hands up as if as a gesture of peace (which was irrational she’s not even looking at him), “I was going home after a meeting with my father. But then I thought Soul might appreciate a visit.” His fingers twitched, “I have the faintest suspicion that the box on the top shelf is the slightest bit to the left.”

  
That got Maka’s attention (of course it would who wouldn’t be worried about such a heinous occurrence) and Kid was able to see the red rims around her eyes (wait ok but was the box in the right place when he left it last?).  
He swallowed, and stopped himself from going inside the infirmary (the box is definitely off center) because his friend needed him (the box the box the box the box the box-)

  
“Will you excuse me for one moment?” Before briskly entering and realigning the box. There. Perfect.  
“Sorry about that.” Kid said when he came back out. Maka only stared, eyes glinting with the same unamused glimmer Liz and Patty wore when he was like this. He hunched his shoulders and focused on the (perfectly squared) floor tiles, “Why are you upset?”

  
“My weapon almost died, why wouldn’t I be upset?”

  
He peered at her, eyes narrow and searching,“.... He’s more than your weapon, isn’t he?”

  
Eyes burning, tears pouring faster, “Do you know what it’s like? Waking up and seeing that scar etched into your skin? Being constantly haunted by the fact that you’re not only a bad meister, you’re a bad partner?” She blinked rapidly, putting her head back on her knees, “He’s stuck with a weakling like me who can't even protect him. That demon sword could have killed him, and it would have been my fault--”

  
She hiccupped, stopping the words from cascading out. Kid’s hand landed on her shoulder, patting it awkwardly. He tried murmuring words of comfort, a few “there there”’s here and “it’s okay”’s. But the tears wouldn't stop and her body was trembling with effort and he knew he was way out of his depth. (Was it socially acceptable to phone Liz in this situation and ask for help? Or Tsubaki? They were much more adept at this than he, and he felt his insides turn cold at the thought of making Maka feel worse.)  
“But he didn’t.” Kid said quietly, as if the volume would make her less likely to hit him if he misspoke, “He’s still alive, and you still have time with him.” Kid found himself sitting next to her, approximately eight inches away with a hand still on her shoulder, “You can make it up to him.”

  
Maka sniffed, still tightly wrapped around herself. Her trembling stopped. So did the muffled cries of anguish. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, green eyes (not the right shade) hard, cheeks wet and glistening. Her voice was low, sotto voce tones barely reaching his ears, “You’re right.”

  
He forced his lips up into some semblance of a smile. He handed her a spare handkerchief, which she took gratefully and used to wipe her face. A terse silence befell them, any and all words he tried to conjure up dying in his throat.

  
“Do you know who yours is?” Maka asked, breaking the silence at the expense of the air becoming heavier. He flinched despite himself, took his hand away as if she had burned him. He could feel the muscles in his back tensing up, envisioned wide curious eyes, crooked smiles. A bullet sized bruise, a piggy back ride, innocence and asymmetry. His heart ached (one, two, three, four…) and he found himself looking to the direction of his dorm.  
He knew she understood.

  
“Does he know?” Her voice got louder with each word. He shook his head. The fabric of the snow white handkerchief twisted on her fingertips, “You need to tell him.”

  
He did not meet her eyes, instead counted the (perfect) brown squares lining the bottom of the hallways. (His throat grew tighter and his chest grew heavy, but it was not his surroundings that bothered him.)

  
“You need to tell him. Before something like this happens to you.” She stifled a laugh, tone more teasing than expected, “He’s way more of an idiot than Soul is. Keep him close to you and love him while you still have the chance.”

  
****

  
He squeezed his hands into fists and felt blood curl on the edges of his nails when Black☆Star said he was leaving. Kid smiled at him, lips taut and uncomfortable, Maka’s words echoing hollowly in his brain. A taunt. (An unwelcome reminder.)  
He told him to stay alive.

  
Bruises littered his body as the days went by, in such rapid succession Kid wondered if he was stuck in a hail storm. Or if that idiot was dumb enough to fall on his head 18 times. (At least the number was even at least most of it was in the middle of his body at least the bruises meant he was still breathing—)

  
He attributed the worry to something logical, normal, but did not hold his breath when he saw Tsubaki enter that cursed sword. Did not feel the same stone of dread lodged in his throat or tautness in his legs as when he saw those villagers pummel Black☆Star with rocks and stones. His own scalp tingled at the sight, grateful his hair was long enough to conceal the bond that manifested across his skin. That etched Black☆Star’s name into his soul.

  
He tried to ascertain the numbness in his body or the shaking of his bones to something he could quantify, something he could understand. But in that week, when he started walking (right foot first and with strides too long) he heard the name of the feeling creeping up his skin.

  
Fear.  
It was fear.

  
As a Shinigami in training, he had only known fear as a concept, an emotion ascribed to humans that was so irrational and unnecessary it drove people to madness. (He felt that madness, tasted its nectar as he stood in the Death Room, face blank, pretending nothing was wrong. He did not count the footsteps it took to get here, or comment on the bruise blooming on his right shoulder. He stayed rooted to his spot, eyes never leaving the mirror.  
The snacks they brought tasted like ash on his tongue.)

  
****

  
They came back after three days.

  
Black☆Star with his hands behind his head and signature beaming smile. Tsubaki trailing after him.  
His friends swarmed the pair, girls suffocating Tsubaki in a bear hug (Liz seemed to hold her just a little tighter) and Soul enveloping Black☆Star in a side hug. Kid felt the tension rush out of his body, as he strode towards the boys (left foot first of course) and flanked Black☆Star’s left side. He looked up at him with that crooked smile, and all Kid could think about was how the curve of his mouth reminded him of the stars.

  
“The problem child finally redeems himself.” Kid said, (and hoped he could recognise the relief in his eyes, the slight tremor of his words sighing welcome home).

  
****

  
_The Kishin next to us…_

  
Kid fought the stormy look that threatened to take over his features, and pushed down the bubbling disgust that churned in his stomach.

  
There was a Kishin underneath the DWMA.

  
He had known his father was prone to keeping secrets, for the purpose of preserving peace, order, symmetry. But how the hell did he expect anything to stay peaceful when there is a Kishin underneath the DWMA?  
How could Kid be so naive? Is this what it meant to be a Shinigami? Hiding behind smoke and mirrors and burying your mistakes so far deep others would never see it?

  
How could he endorse his father keeping such dangerous things hidden?  
They were having a party, dammit! (and the food wasn’t split evenly on the table, the curtain on the left was three centimeters away from where it should be, the amount of people in the room made the space cramped and suffocating and Kid didn’t even want to think about all the germs.)

  
He bit back his anger, swallowed his pride and spoke the words his father proved too incompetent to speak.  
And of course Black☆Star decided he wanted to be the center of attention while he was talking, of course he had no regard for anything or anyone around him, of course he was causing chaos and making the curtains look worse. Dammit! (what's worse is that Black☆Star was incapable of wearing a suit properly. He looked atrocious, tie askew, one side of his shirt tucked in but not the other, and food all over his mouth! The gall! So yes, he did get into a little wrestling match with his stupid excuse of a soulmate and, no, he was NOT in the wrong.)

  
He tried to relieve his stress by dancing with Liz and Patty, instructing them to kick their legs at a perfect sixty degree angle. They were approximately three degrees off and Patty was lagging behind by ten seconds and it was doing nothing for Kid except giving him hives.

  
So he dismissed his weapons and told them to go have fun, while he contented himself with glaring daggers into the floor. (Not before seeing Liz reach a hand out to Tsubaki, and Maka making a beeline for Soul. They were not subtle at all.)

  
“I dunno what the floor did to you, but I don’t think it’s gonna fight you.” A voice chortled (obnoxiously), accompanied by a tanned hand landing on his (right) shoulder.

  
Kid flinched and backed away from the touch, redirecting his glare to Black☆Star (of course) whose suit was still hideous in every sense of the word. He didn’t even try to stop his hands from smoothing out his collar and rearranging his tux into something semi presentable. Black☆Star squirmed at his preening, but Kid only became more forceful, biting out the words,“If you’re going to be such a nuisance at least let me fix the mess you’ve made of yourself!”

  
He scoffed at Kid and crossed his arms (to Kid’s ever-growing dismay), “You’re not my mother! Besides the great Black☆Star doesn’t need your fussing to look good.”

  
Kid glowered at the shorter boy, meeting his gaze head on. His grip on Black☆Star’s collar became tighter and tighter, as he dared the younger boy to argue with him. Black☆Star’s gaze flitted one of his eyes to another, and the boy’s stare became less heated. He looked away and dropped his arms in a huff. Kid stood straighter and smirked, smoothing out the wrinkles his fingers made.  
It took a while before Kid deemed his attire satisfactory enough. He tied and retired his bow eight times (it wasn’t even enough the first seven times), straightened his shirt sixteen times (he could have sworn that it was tilting slightly to the side), and readjusted his jacket twenty-four times (the fabric didn’t feel smooth enough, was he sure that looked good maybe eight more times—)  
Black☆Star, to his surprise, stayed relatively still during this. He did not complain, or call him an idiot, or ridicule his obsessive behaviour. He did not push him away or rush him, or do any number of things Kid was used to. He merely stared at the boy, grumbling occasionally, with the smallest pout on his lips. (Black☆Star’s eyes weren’t smoldering, or cold either. The crows feet at the sides of his eyes softened, became less of a bold and more of an italicised, as those tender verdant irises swirled with something akin to… curiosity.

He didn’t know it was possible for him to look so soft.)

  
Only when Kid pulled out the handkerchief and started scrubbing away the crumbs on his face with a bit too much vigour did Black☆Star say, “You ok, Kid? You’re kinda attacking my face."

  
He paused, retracting his hand. He bit his lip, and looked off to the side, “Sorry.”

  
“It’s fine, something like that couldn’t throw me off!” Black☆Star cocked his head, scrutinising Kid, “Are you good? You seem more uptight than usual.”

  
His hands tightened around his handkerchief, nails digging into the little embroidered skulls, "Really? I’m surprised you noticed. I could have sworn you had the emotional intelligence of a toothpick."

  
Black☆Star just shook his head at him, "Awwww come on, Kid, don't be like that!" He looked away, and Kid followed his gaze, onto the dance floor.

  
A mischievous glint twinkled in his eye as Black☆Star said, “Dance with me!”

  
Kid snorted, incredulous but intrigued. He stepped towards the boy, “Do you even know how to?”

  
“Of course I do! I can do anything. Don’t underestimate me, Kid, I’ll dance so well I’ll leave you in the dust!” He replied, grandiose words and syllables barraging out of his mouth as he pulled Kid onto the open floor.

  
Kid rolled his eyes, but felt the irritation that has been drilling into the side of his brain for the better half of the evening subside. He wrinkled his nose at Black☆Star’s grip on his shirt (that would most definitely leave creases), but decided to indulge him. Kid let himself be dragged, if only to see the boy's words fall apart the moment they got onto the dance floor.

  
He had chosen a spot in the middle (of course he did, he loved attention) but where there was enough space to make sure they didn’t bump into anyone. (Kid wondered if it was a conscious decision, if Black☆Star knew he would complain about the germs that came from being suffocated by other people. He also wondered why the thought brought a blush to his cheek.)  
He straightened his cuffs, placed a hand on his waist, patient but firm and said, “I’ll lead.”

  
Black☆Star’s pout was akin to a child, but to Kid’s surprise (delight), he acquiesced and placed his hand on Kid’s shoulder. Their fingers intertwined, an air of hesitance suspended between them. The warmth of Black☆Star’s hand seeped into Kid’s cold ones, a shiver slithering down his spine. They adjusted themselves accordingly, until there was a reasonable amount of space between them, and their stances felt comfortable.  
Then, Kid took the first step.

  
(Kid fell into the old ballroom training, stepping in perfect time with the music. He guided with authority, subconsciously directing his partner by putting pressure on his waist. Each stride was poised, refined, and purposeful. Planning ahead for the next step and the next, fine-tuning the speed, the pace. Hyper aware of Black☆Star.  
And Black☆Star, _oh_ , Black☆Star. He danced how he fought, all brute strength and confidence oozing with every step he took, sure and powerful. Flames licked at Black☆Star’s dress shoes, intensity engrossing him like a whirlwind. He followed with fervour, easily keeping pace with Kid, challenging him to go faster, faster.  
Each place their skin touched prickled. Kid could feel his heat on his shoulder, through his suit, and found himself wanting to draw closer.  
Their presence took over the dance floor, demanding attention and respect. It did not feel like Kid was leading, or Black☆Star was following. It felt as though they were walking together, side by side as control seemed shared by both of them. They were equals. Their movements were perfect.  
Precise.  
Direct.  
Passionate.  
They were a force to be reckoned with, souls resonating at neck breaking velocity. They commanded the floor, a steadfast congruity binding them together, energy and hearts thrumming in unison, and Kid concluded this was the closest he had come to godhood.  
And it felt so _right_ , the two of them _together_ like this.)

  
“You don’t have to tell me.” Kid blinked and refocused his attention on the shorter boy, “What’s wrong that is. Just know your good buddy, Black☆Star, is always here if you wanna talk.” He gave Kid a lopsided smile, sending a tingling sensation into his stomach. He furrowed his brow and inclined his head, trying to process the words. (It felt like he had been given a piece of an elaborate puzzle. Of course a part of him knew that Black☆Star was more than a bombastic, ambitious, arrogant figurehead. Of course he knew he had depth. But it was different to see it, lining his fingers, jaw, brow bone. It was different to see him shining not with brashness, but a calm attentiveness, all directed towards Kid.)

  
Any residue worry and anger melted away as Kid felt the corner of his lip quirk up ever so slightly, “Thanks.”  
They stayed silent for a while, wrapped up in the feeling of power they emitted. Kid had locked onto their feet for the duration of the dance, still focused on the technicalities, the intricate fine details to look up. (Their feet complemented each other, and they always followed in each other’s steps.) Only when he felt the pair functioned well enough without his scrutiny did he look up to his companion.

  
(They were closer than he remembered when did they get closer? Kid could see the deep line etched between his brow, the little freckles dotted on the gentle slope of his nose from too much sun, the wisps of blue hair asunder and framing each detail of his face. His head was spinning, as he tried to squash the thought of counting each strand, each freckle. Would Black☆Star let him? Would he have that same aching patience he had when Kid fixed his suit?)

  
“I’m surprised you’re able to keep up with me!” Black☆Star said brashly, jolting Kid out of his thoughts.

  
He suppressed a shaky sigh, calling upon all his wit before replying with, “You do realise I’m the one in control, correct?” and his voice could barely keep the sarcasm in his tone, instead sounding way more breathless than intended. (His heart ran marathons in his chest, a dizzying fog clouding everything with him he could feel his breathing against his cheek even and perfect—)

  
“Even if I’m the lady, I’m still a star! You of all people should know that, Kiddo.” And there’s something more in his teasing tone that Kid could dwell on, but he felt pulled into the present by mention of his nickname.

  
His demeanour become colder, bit his lip and he willed away the fire that flared back up in his stomach, “Only my father calls me that”  
Black☆Star merely blinked before smirking at him, eyes wrought with mischief, “I’m way cooler than him! If he gets to, I should too.”  
Kid rolled his eyes, but noted the anger subsided yet again.

He pondered the boy’s request while looking at his eyes, and realised in them he saw the night sky, “Only if I get to call you Star.” (Of _course_ they would end up like this, of _course_ he reminded Kid of pale moonlight, _of course_ he fit the second half of his namesake.)

  
Kid held his breath as Black☆Star paused, the air around him stilling in the wake of his choice. But his face cracked into one of his signature, blazing smiles, light outpouring in every crevice of his body as he said, “Of course! That’s the only thing that fits me anyway!” And he laughed, loud and boisterous, but there is red colouring his cheeks and Black☆Star is blushing, _Star_ is _blushing_.  
  
“Alright then, Star it is.” And Kid could feel the corners of his mouth peel into a (real) smile, one he hadn’t worn in so long and yet this idiot pulled it out of him. Star softened, and they’re looking at each other, and he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading or his eyes flitting to his lips, and Kid wondered if he knew if he needed to tell him he wanted to tell him—  
Then the weight of all his father's mistakes culminated at that moment. That. Damn. Kishin.  
(Kid hand tightened on Black☆Star’s waist, before they broke away.)

  
****

  
The combination of the anger swirling in his gut and the hideously arranged bombs blocking the pathway made him sick. It was as if the enemy was mocking him specifically, and unfortunately they were doing a pretty good job of it. Kid could barely stand to look at the bombs, waves of nausea striking him relentlessly. (Nothing about it was symmetrical, nothing was perfect, and the knowledge that Kid couldn’t fix it made his ribs cave into his heart. He was a worthless, hopeless, _waste_ of a Shinigami— 

He tried not to feel the tendrils of dread sneaking up his sides when he remembered he was tasked with fixing his father’s mistakes.)

  
In the end, Patty’s scolding was what got Kid past those disgusting, heinous bombs. Kid swallowed, but took great pleasure in seeing that revolting arrangement destroyed. He gritted his teeth, nails digging into the cool metal for some semblance of grounding. This mission paralleled that of a colossal failure even before they landed in those abominable coffins.

  
(He imagined a skull mask, perfectly symmetrical with unfeeling voids as eyes and scowled. Vitriol made a home in his ribs, eating away at his lungs and heart at such a speed he wondered if he'd be consumed in wrath before insanity.)

  
“We can’t stop here! Are you having a reaction?”

  
He hadn’t even realised he had stopped before Liz mentioned it. (What else had his father kept from him in the name of peace? How many lies, how many deceptions, how many people would get hurt because of his carelessness? The Kishin’s madness threaded through the air, braiding into the folds of Kid’s mind, whispering and coalescing with thoughts of his father until he could only see red. He could not hyperfocus on the mess, did not hear the voices that plagued his mind since birth. All he was, all he knew was the smoldering, white tendrils of suffocating rage.)

  
Liz’s voice cut through the sea of crimson, snapping Kid out of his thoughts as the room came back into focus, “Are you alright?”

  
He swallowed, hyper aware of the sweat trickling down his forehead (did he bring his handkerchief with him?), “Yeah… It’s just this pressure. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

  
Somehow he ended up reciting the tale of his father’s transgressions, of this Kishin Asura (something in him stirred at the name, a shadow of a memory) to the girls. He focused on their mental connection, closed his eyes against the madness that etched on the sides of his vision.( He was swimming in a pool of tar, the black muck consuming him the more he tried to struggle against it. What even was the point of balance anyway—)

  
The blast of a projectile rattled his teeth, searing heat a little too close for comfort. God, his head was spinning, thoughts divesting into a series of pictures and ruminations that were not about the fact _he almost died he needed to focus on his opponent_.

  
He needed to breathe (one, two three, four…) he needed to stay _present_ (five, six, seven, eight.)

  
The projectile came from the immortal, who proved to be more taxing than he imagined. Of course, it did not help that he became increasingly aware of his surroundings (the room was so damn messy), eyes scanning the walls in search of a vantage point (that pillar was broken where’s the other piece, why is there a weird looking pig, who decorated this place???)

  
The entire battle was a blur, a tangle of dodging attacks (the pillar), fruitless shooting (the statue), and the impossibility of progressing any further (bad dream this had to be a bad dream). The odds became worse and worse, as his skin became itchy, and his fingers started to twitch, his insides ripping apart and rearranging. He fell back into one of his older habits, scratching his head faster and faster (he needed to regain control, this was a way to regain control, he can’t fix the room but he can control this he can control this oh god everything is spiralling out of contr—).

  
A solid weight barreled into him, knocking him into the ground. Cackling filled the air, along with a familiar suffocating egotism. Kid felt the anger bubble up against his skin yet again, but found it was easier for him to breathe. He could feel the scolding words drip out of his mouth before his brain even processed what had happened, “Moron! The one we want is further ahead!”

  
Black☆Star cocked his head, eyes wide, “Really? Then what are you standing around here for?”

  
Kid panted, the whorls of mania and irritation subsiding. (His vision became sharper, all his focus flooding back to him in a matter of seconds. They had a mission to complete, this was not the time to be so overcome by emotion.  
Was this the effect of the Kishin’s madness?)

  
With Black☆Star here, Liz and Patty were able to redirect his attention to their opponent.  
With Black☆Star here, he was able to see through the immortal’s trick quickly.  
With Black☆Star here, they were able to advance. (Even though he’s such an idiot, Kid felt his grip on his weapons loosen. As Black☆Star, placed a hand on his shoulder, sheepish grin on his lips, he held the slightest bit of hope.)

  
****

  
(When he became weightless, stubby fingers furled against the hilt of his enchanted blade, shadows playing against the meat of his cheek and the corners of his eyes, licking at his heels in an ardor akin to his likeness, Kid saw stardust twirling in the field of his vision and wondered if today was the day Black☆Star would surpass god.

It was not.)

  
****

  
“We failed.”

  
The scent of burning skin sizzled and polluted the air in plumes, and Kid could feel himself drowning in smoke and bone marrow, sickness residing in the folds of his stomach, throat tearing apart when his name left his lips and Black☆Star’s body hit the ground. The last thing he remembered was throwing himself at the Kishin, retribution powering his legs and falling

  
falling

  
falling.

  
(He dreamed of constellations and prayed to his father that when he woke up, Maka’s words wouldn’t be the only thing his eyes opened to.)

  
****

  
They were alive.  
Somehow.

  
They had survived the rancor of the Kishin, bruises and hurts the only thing they had to show for the battle. Defeat sat heavily in the air, shrouding all of Death City in a density analogous to despair.

  
They had failed, after all.

  
(His father’s eyes churned when Kid came to the Death Room, voids boring down at him. Judgement and exhaustion danced in them, relentless and cold even as they passed over Kid’s, and by extension Black☆Star’s, wounds. This was a scolding, a pledge of silent disappointment casted onto Kid’s frame. Before, Kid would have broken eye contact, gaze at the clouds brushing his feet while his shoulders hunched. Before, Kid would have let the voices take over, self loathing clawing at every inch of his skin, picking apart each imperfection and each fault that resided in his body. Before, when his feet traced these same steps and he cowered under this cruel gaze, Kid only knew what it meant to be a disappointment to his father.  
Instead, he levelled his eyes to this impassable god’s, fists clenched to his sides, and _snarled_.)

  
The group had converged to the basketball court, shooting hoops and chasing some semblance of peace in air that teemed with chaos, willfully ignoring the uncertain future that lay before them. (Here there was no failure, only the fierce competitive nature of his friends and a kinship. He saw it in Maka’s clumsy dribbling, Tsubaki’s patient smile, Patty’s carefree laughter, and Soul’s “cool” demeanour.  
Black☆Star’s ambitious eyes and lopsided simper.  
They were his family.  
Kid swallowed back a grin, and let a soothing warmth overtake his limbs in security.  
It was the last time he would feel secure in months.)

  
The onslaught of Death Scythes made the DWMA suffocating. The oppressive atmosphere clung to their physique as they trudged solemnly through the school. The Kishin was a death sentence, and Lord Death with his scythes was the perfect executioner. (While walking through the halls, his feet always took the path furthest from the Death Room.)  
With them came chaos, the group being split up and sent to do various different tasks. Arachne proved to be a growing threat to the academy, and Kid was continuously tasked to receive “magic tools”. (He refused to look Lord Death in his eyes, let his lips form the word “understood” despite the friction on his tongue and soot between his teeth.)

  
With the influx of new enemies and trials, the cards became increasingly stacked against them; they were becoming stronger, but they were still just children playing at war in an adult game, stakes too deadly to warrant being subjugated on the battlefield.

  
They kept _losing_.

  
The ideals of balance resided deep in Kid’s ribs since childhood, an intrinsic belief in the ever tilting scales of order and madness, life and death, good and evil forever oscillating in order to keep the world whole. He wanted to believe that this was a minor setback, that Arachne would only make miniscule progress before being offset and deterred by the DWMA. That somehow, no matter how illogical and hopeless it seemed, they would come out on top. He desperately clung to this, mouth remaining dry while knots coiled at the base of his spine. (He ignored the sick crackling of his foundations breaking, closed his eyes against the decimated pieces of his world plummeting down around him. Balance and symmetry laid in his hands, cutting into his palms as he gripped them tighter and tighter to counteract the chalky smell of asphalt. His father had been his role model for the duration of his life, the god he aspired to be and yet…  
Who was Eibon? Why was Lord Death’s name on a magic tool? Why did the DWMA hunt witches?  
Were they the good guys? Was Lord Death—?)

  
He hadn’t seen Black☆Star in weeks.  
He manifested himself as splotches on Kid’s skin, in olive, sanguine, mulberry. They were numerous but small, peppered onto plains of ivory flesh. His usual attire was enough to cover it, but peeling back the layers of clothing at the end of the day became a painful reminder. (Black☆Star had the uncanny ability to occupy space without being anywhere near him. He materialised in the nooks and crannies of Kid’s life, in rooms that were a little too quiet, a little too empty, mocking him. It was as if the absence of him made him more present. Kid was acutely aware of the numbness lining his stomach and crusting crudely over his heart. How the lingering bleakness seemed all the more vibrant.

  
For the first time, Kid traced the bruises and was plagued with images of a big empty house ringing with deafening silence. Childhood tasted bitter on his tongue.)

  
****

  
When he did see Black☆Star, it was in the infirmary. Maka had gotten hurt from Arachne’s soldiers, finding herself in the same bed Soul inhabited merely months before. (The irony was thick. She was apparently incapable of following her own advice. Weird sexual tension permeated the air around them, and Soul refused to leave her side. Kid may have been oblivious when faced with another's emotions, but anyone could see they fancied each other. Still, they appeared locked in a stalemate, forever circling around the other until someone was pushed over the edge.  
Not unlike his situation, Kid supposed.)

  
Black☆Star came armed with a black sharpie and a toothy grin, branding Maka’s forehead with his signature (which was three centimetres off centred) with a good natured chortle. Voice soft, fingers brushing against the skin of Maka’s forehead.  
(He didn’t look at Kid. Kid fixated on perfecting the medicine cabinets to quell sharp pangs in his stomach.)

  
Sid sauntered into the small room, beckoning Nagius out to talk about important matters. (What no one else noticed was that Black☆Star’s eyes followed them, that he slipped out of the room moments after the adults left. His assassination skills had gotten better.)

  
He sniffed, grip tightening on his pencil. He tried to focus on the lesson, on Stein's voice droning on about soul resonance. But his eyes kept trailing back to the two empty seats next to Soul, gut squirming. (He worried about this boy too damn much. Why was he cursed with a soulmate who was incapable of taking care of himself?)

  
Black☆Star seemed off, before he disappeared. His smile was a little dimmer, the lines on his face hard and cold. Kid had hoped it was just general sadness from seeing Maka in such a state. But a gnawing feeling broiled in his gut, taunting him.

  
Something was wrong.

  
****

  
After another tedious meeting with Lord Death, Kid stalked down the hallway, syncing the click of his heels to cater to his perfect strides. It was soothing, medical salve applied to his grated nerves. Comfort was hard to come by these days in the wake of the shadowed halls. Indulging in one of his compulsions for limited relief seemed to be the only source of calm. How ironic.  
He would be home soon. It would take about five minutes to get there on Beelzebub (if he was slow he could stretch it out to eight…. tempting), but perhaps he could —

  
He glanced upward and faltered.

  
The younger boy was lingering at the edge of the hall, staring at the door of the infirmary. Sunlight gushed from the window, draping Black☆Star’s (perfectly centred) beanie in flecks of gold. The sinewy muscles of his back were rigid under his yellow sweatshirt, tremors wracking his frame. Half of his face was obscured by ripples of darkness, the only discernible feature the sharp corners of his mouth, drawn back into a heavy frown. Tsubaki was nowhere to be found.

  
“Black☆Star—” The words crumbled on his tongue (one cheek was adorned with a bandage).

  
Black☆Star turned frantically (there’s no bandage on the other cheek), hunching in on himself as he glared at Kid. His mouth pulled back into a snarl (how could he not realise the symmetry of his face has been compromised?), eyes bright and hazy with shame of being caught, (he was so careless the bandage—) before recognition flashed in them. Tension seeped out of his bones. His face became blank, carefully guarded against Kid’s watchful gaze (the bandage the bandage the bandage, why was Black☆Star acting so weird, the bandage).

  
The silence settled on both of them, Kid choking on the mountains of questions building up behind his teeth. (His heart was pounding in his ears, drumming to the beat of an erratic, cacophonous melody. He was right there, less than four feet away, and all Kid could think about were the damn bandage. It had been so long since they had talked, too long, this was not the time for his stupid obsessions to take over. He placed his hands in his pockets to calm himself, tapped his fingers, one two three four five six seven eight. It was taking all his willpower to stay, to be still and focus on the person he had wanted to see more than anyone else. Who was littered with cuts and marks, who’s eyes...)

  
Black☆Star’s glower bored into him, fingers relaxing at his sides (Kid imagined flecks of blood sprinkled on his fingernails, how could Black☆Star be okay with being asymmetrical?). He cobbled up some semblance of a smile, wide and awkward on his cheeks as he said, “Whatcha starin’ at Kid? Admiring the view?”

  
Kid opened his mouth before clamping it shut, unsure of how to funnel his concern and confusion and bafflement into coherent phrases (he’s imperfect he’s imperfect the bandage keeps him from being perfect—). His tongue sat firmly on the roof of his mouth rolling syllables and consonants against it.

  
Black☆Star’s focus flicked to his mouth, before dragging back to his eyes, “What is it, cat got your tongue?” He was slipping back into his usual bravado, sentences so like him, and yet they didn’t sound right. Nothing about this was right, “As much as I like the attention, I’ve got stuff to do. You know how it is.”

  
He walked past him, brushing his side as he went. Tension clung to his body, his footsteps leadened against the floor. The alarm bells blared in Kid’s head, screaming say something do something. (Something was wrong, he was acting strangely. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the world, scabs glinting and taunting. Kid was unaware of the events prior to this meeting, but everything pointed to the simple fact that Black☆Star _needed_ him.)

  
“Wait.” Kid heard himself say, blinking against the fuzzy edges of his vision (he could do this, it was fine there was only one bandage).  
He heard the footsteps behind him stutter, as if hoping for salvation, giving one last chance for redemption. He allowed himself to breathe, strung sentences around the static stuffed in his brain. He connected the worry, the weight, the emptiness, this impalpable and unfathomable connection that made butterflies flutter in his stomach, harmonious symphonies ring in his ears, sweetness linger on his tongue.

  
He cared for this boy, had been fretting over his absence for months, this was _not the time—_

  
“You have a bandage on your left cheek but not your right. You have to add another one for it to be symmetrical.”

  
Damn it.

  
There must have been cotton in his ears, Black☆Star’s voice sounded miles away. His chuckle was humourless, “Gotcha. See you around, Kid.”  
(He didn’t know why this felt like a goodbye.)

****

  
The cut on his cheek and the rising lacerations on his stomach, wrists, and chest echoed the gashes hidden by Black☆Star’s sweater. He looked in the mirror and traced them, throat constricted, blocked by a hot ball of dread and regret. His fist clenched and he covered his reflection with a blanket before that dull itch could settle properly underneath his skin.

  
****

  
He should have stepped in when he had the chance.

  
Brew.  
Enchanted Sword.  
The bruises.  
Mifune.

  
The losses kept piling up, a bitter tally score signifying more and more defeat.  
Black☆Star wasn’t made for defeat. The boy guarded himself behind iron walls masked as fake smiles and fist bumps. It was unnerving, watching a chasm grow steadily between him and their friends, one made of his own volition. He hid his unraveling in distance, distance which caused an ache in Kid’s heart. (He saw it in his eyes that day, burning rage coiling and twisting darkly in the shadows of his irises. Toxic and vile self loathing polluting that thick skull of his with negative thoughts and affirmations. Kid could hear them, taste the song of self disgust on his tongue, smell the sharp tang of static in his nostrils. He had gazed into Black☆Star’s eyes and saw himself.)

**Author's Note:**

> the dance scene is my favourite part so far lmao. tell me whatcha think, scream at me in the comments i’m down lmao. luv u mwah.


End file.
